"When I write, I feel like an armless, legless man with a crayon in his mouth." -Kurt Vonnegut

Friday, November 28, 2008

Beauty (poem #3)

I have gotten approximately ten marriage proposals.Each one declaring, “I love you.”I (might as well strip down) (those eyes peeling)the breath (my breath) like the bedroom.

I realized (one day)sitting on the Duomo steps thatevery man who passed byhad looked up my skirt(I see that head dip, peer)

These are out of proportation.The David, his head, this is unrealistic—The Italians with their grease sculpted hairand grease (this imagined) seepingfrom their pores, grease too, expulsionthrough the mouth, skin.

My body as well (in comparison)My hips (these women so small),as if I were a sculpture(Donatello’s David is my favorite,his drooping butt).Her hips are too large.They cannot eat the meals that are laid out before me.

1 comment:

I had trouble following what was being said in this poem. I liked the idea, and the images. But I'm too much of a grammar nazi, and I couldn't understand what was being said at times because pronouns shifted ambiguously and some sentences didn't have verbs...